


Rituals

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: schmoop_bingo, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Arthur's attention shifts to a different kind of massage.





	1. Contrition

The room was small but warm and actually dry. That’s all Merlin cared about. Sleeping on an inn’s floor was far preferable to sleeping in the mud, and Merlin was just grateful they’d found the inn at all and Arthur had agreed to stop for the night. Merlin felt like a drowned rat and Arthur looked a lot like Merlin felt. Plus his back hurt and he was sore from how hard Arthur had pushed them to get back to Camelot. A bath would have been nice. But by the time he got Arthur bathed and in bed, he’d be too tired to stand. He didn’t want to pass out in a cold tub of Arthur’s dirty water. He’d do without the bath. 

It was worse than that. He barely even got up to Arthur’s room before he was ready to pass out. His feet were dead weights and he could barely keep his eyes open. Arthur said something to him, but all he could hear was the sound of the rain pouring on the roof while the wind lashed around the building, as furious as any whip master’s cat o’nine. 

“ _Merlin_!” 

Merlin jumped. “Sire?” 

“Have you heard a word I said?” 

“No.” 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Merlin shook his head. “I’m just tired, sire. It’s been a long day.” 

“You’re acting like you’re already drowned.” 

“Maybe I am,” Merlin grumbled, struggling with his shirt. 

“Hey. Aren’t you forgetting something here?” 

“What?” 

Arthur cuffed him across the head. It was a casual gesture, but it made Merlin’s ears ring. “I could use some help with the armor, Merlin.” 

“Oh, right, sorry.”

Merlin gave up on his drenched shirt and focused his attention on Arthur’s hauberk. Arthur stood still, and Merlin noticed the sag in his shoulders and the way he held his head like he just couldn’t keep his chin off his chest. Nobody else ever saw Arthur like this. Nobody else was allowed to. It shouldn’t have felt like an honor, but it did. It was. 

As he stripped Arthur of his armor, Merlin realized he wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon. He needed to rub everything down so it would dry. Rusty armor was weak armor, and neither Arthur nor Merlin would abide that. Fortunately, he’d polished Arthur’s armor so many times that he could probably do it in his sleep, if necessary. Or he would wait until Arthur passed out and use his magic. Merlin was willing to do whatever necessary. 

After he got out of his wet clothes. 

Merlin tiredly peeled the cold material from his chest and back, momentarily tangled in the uncooperative shirt. 

“Merlin, hold still.” 

Merlin froze. “What?” 

“Just…let me get that for you.” 

Merlin felt him tug at the shirt, lifting the hem from his ribs. Arthur’s knuckles brushed across a sore spot, and Merlin sucked his breath in sharply. Arthur stopped. 

“What? What is it?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Wait…is this a bruise?” 

“I don’t know. It might be. Arthur? I’m stuck here. I can barely move my arms.” 

Arthur clasped his shoulder, his fingers biting into Merlin’s flesh. “I know. Hold still a minute, will you? Who did this?” 

“Who did what?” 

“ _This_ , Merlin. These bruises. Who did this?” 

“Do you mean the one on the left or the right side?” 

“What? Turn around here.” Arthur used his grip to make Merlin do a half-turn. Merlin’s arms flailed helplessly. 

“Please, Arthur, I’m freezing.” 

“I’m almost done. It looks like somebody’s been beating on you.” Arthur sounded genuinely annoyed. An impression that was reinforced by the rough way he yanked Merlin’s shirt off. 

“Somebody has.” 

“What?” Arthur twisted his shirt around his fingers, knuckles white. “Who?” 

Merlin blinked. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes. Tell me.” 

Merlin didn’t understand why this was happening. He just wanted to go to sleep. But Arthur wasn’t going to let this go. It would be easier just to answer him. 

“This,” Merlin said, pointing at his chest, “is from weapons training. And so is this one, this one, and this one.” He pointed to his left shoulder. “This is from two days ago when you hit me to get my attention. The one on my back is from when you pushed me down in the stables.” 

“That was an accident.” 

“Fine, from when you _accidently_ shoved me to the ground. I’m not sure about the faded ones. That might have been from the hunting incident. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m really tired and I’d just like to polish your armor and then try to get a few hours of sleep before you drag us out into the mud again. Sire.” 

Arthur stared at him, twin spots of color on his cheeks, and Merlin realized that he might have gone too far. He probably should have said sire with a tad more respect and a tad less ire. It was difficult to find the right balance when he was this tired. 

“Go to bed.” 

“What?” 

Arthur gestured at the one bed in the room. “Go to sleep, Merlin.” 

“I can’t. I have to take care of…” 

“I’m not going to tell you again. I’ll take care of the armor. Now go to bed.” 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t tell me again.” Merlin grinned and stumbled toward the cot. He sat down heavily, pulled his boots off and unlaced his pants. That was as far as he got before the pillow was too much for him to resist. He stretched out and muttered something to Arthur about going to sleep and then he was dead to the world. 

Until something cold and warm touched the sensitive skin just below his neck. Merlin jerked awake, his heart pounding, his muscles tense, ready to flee. A gentle hand fell on his shoulder, warm and firm without being painful, and oh god _where was Arthur_ and _who was in their room_? 

“Merlin. I’m sorry. Shh. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Arthur?” 

“Yes. It’s me. Just relax.” 

“What…what are you doing?” 

“I found some of that salve in your bag. The one Gaius uses for bruises.” 

“I…do you need me?” 

Arthur sighed. “No, I was trying to use some on you. Now shut up and go back to sleep.” 

Merlin would have been happy to obey that particular command, but Arthur was touching him again. The cool salve wasn’t quite so startling now, and Arthur was working it into Merlin’s skin with just the right amount of pressure. It stung the more tender areas, but it wasn’t anything Merlin couldn’t handle. He wasn’t surprised Arthur was good at this. He’d probably been on both sides of the situation more times than he could count. 

After a small eternity, Arthur gently nudged Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin felt disoriented again, convinced somebody had broken into the room to manhandle him, until he opened his eyes and saw Arthur looking at him intently. 

“Turn over.” 

Merlin didn’t have the energy to argue, so he rolled to his back. He felt warm again. Too warm for the room. The storm continued to rage outside, and Merlin wondered if they would be able to leave. The roads were sure to be washed out. But that mattered very little. Not when he felt so cozy and his back wasn’t sore at all for the first time in weeks. 

“This is nice,” Merlin murmured. 

“Go back to sleep,” Arthur whispered. 

Merlin sighed. Arthur’s fingers were working over his ribs in slow, thoughtful circles. He’d never felt anything so nice, and he clung to consciousness for as long as he could. But finally his body needed rest more than it needed to bask in attention from Arthur, and Merlin didn’t wake again until breakfast. 

#

The second night on their journey back to Camelot, they had better luck, in that the rain had stopped. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a conveniently placed inn on the road. Nobody grumbled when Arthur ordered the knights to stop and make camp, but they were all exhausted and no doubt longing for their own beds. Merlin hated his own bed, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life. 

Merlin walked a wide circle around the spot Arthur chose, looking for mostly-dry wood to start the fire. He was bone weary from their day of travel, but the excellent night of sleep he got went a long way toward improving his mood (Merlin was just doing his best not to think about the true reason for his excellent rest. Especially since he couldn’t even begin to explain it. Arthur wasn’t exactly known for, well, whatever it was Arthur had been doing). Plus, they would reach Camelot by the next day, and this entire soggy, muddy mess would be behind them. 

He returned to camp with an armful of wood and laid out a space for the fire. The knights were either dealing with their bedrolls or talking in small groups near the horses. Merlin didn’t see any sign of Arthur, but he’d probably picked up on a game trail and wanted to hunt before the last light disappeared. 

At first, the fire did nothing but smoke defiantly. Merlin fanned it, spreading the smoke until it started to burn his eyes. If Arthur saw this mess, he would just yell at him for using wet wood to kindle a fire. And possibly hit him with a stick. He crouched low, surveyed the immediate area, and used his fingertips to start a flame. At first, it didn’t want to catch on the wood, but a softly spoken spell had it burning in no time. With that important task out of the way, Merlin staked out a spot for Arthur’s bedroll, finding the flattest, driest patch of ground he could. When Arthur returned to camp, Merlin was ready to help dress the rabbits Arthur had with him. 

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked as Merlin sliced his small blade through the rabbit’s soft belly. Fur and flesh gave way, spilling the guts into Merlin’s waiting hand. 

“Fine. How are you feeling?” 

“I meant your bruises.” 

“They’re fine, Arthur.” 

Arthur looked at him with a small, thoughtful frown. Merlin stared back, except his frown was puzzled. 

“Have I missed something?” Merlin asked slowly. “Is that why you’re asking?” 

“No, I just…I’ll take care of the rest of these.” 

“Why? I’m not doing it wrong. I do know how to dress a rabbit, Arthur. I’m really not _that_ useless.” 

“I never said you didn’t know how to do it,” Arthur snapped. 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

“There isn’t a problem.” 

“Great, then, let me do my job so we can eat. Go…” Merlin gestured vaguely at the knights surrounding the fire. “Get warm.” 

Merlin managed to stay upright until after he ate his portion of the rabbit. Then it was all he could do to throw his bedroll down on the ground besides Arthur’s, and he fell asleep studying the outline of Arthur’s body in the firelight. 

When he woke, he was still facing the fire, but there was nothing left except softly glowing coals. Somebody was on the other side, sitting straight and keeping watch. Merlin thought it might be Leon. After a tense moment, Merlin realized what woke him. The same thing as the night before—cool salve and warm skin and the softest touch. This time, he didn’t question it. He just exhaled shakily and forced himself to relax. Arthur moved as deliberately as before, carefully rubbing the salve into every inch of every bruise. 

Merlin turned over at Arthur’s nudge, and Arthur was looking at him with familiar, intent eyes. He was sorry, Merlin realized. That’s what this had all been about. Arthur was performing an act of contrition, and Merlin could have told him it wasn’t necessary, but he kept his mouth shut. If it made Arthur feel better to rub Merlin down with surprising tenderness, who was Merlin to argue? He might have had some stupid moments, but he wasn’t an idiot. 

By the time Arthur was finished, Merlin’s entire body was tingling pleasantly. Arthur pulled his shirt back down, and Merlin thought his fingers might have lingered a bit too long on his hip. He heard Arthur settle down beside him, and knew he was close enough to touch. Merlin settled on his side and leaned back until he felt Arthur’s arm against his spine. Arthur didn’t pull away, and Merlin fell asleep, content. 

#

“Where did this come from?” Arthur demanded, sounding surprised and angry at once. 

“What?” Merlin asked, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. 

“This long bruise. It goes across your thighs. Like…” 

“Like somebody hit me on the back of my legs with his sword because I wasn’t moving fast enough?” Merlin asked. 

“When did I do that?” 

“Most days, sire.” 

“Merlin…how long have you had bruises like this?” 

Merlin shrugged. “How long have I been serving you? I haven’t really kept track of the days.” 

“You should have said something,” Arthur said tightly. 

“Why?” 

“So I’d stop!” 

“I don’t think it’s that easy, my lord.” 

“Why? Because I’m some sort of abusive tyrant who can’t be trusted with the care of his own manservant?” Arthur asked harshly. 

“No, of course that’s not what I meant, sire,” Merlin said quickly, wondering why Arthur was so angry about this. He was clearly sorry. That was good enough for Merlin. He was more than happy to drop the topic altogether, even if that meant he didn’t get any more slow rub downs. “But I don’t think you’re aware of your own strength. I mean, you don’t treat me any different than you treat your knights. Can I get up now?” 

“No. Hold still.” 

Merlin rested his brow on his folded arms and sighed. “Arthur, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need you to do this.” 

“I need to do this.” 

“No, you don’t. I’m fine. Really.” 

“This one must hurt like hell,” Arthur said. “Let me just…” 

Then his index was on Merlin’s thigh, almost his inner thigh, and Merlin jerked away like he’d been burned. He could keep his physical responses under control when Arthur was just rubbing his back, but his thigh? No. He was already half-hard, and he had to take several deep breaths to will his arousal down. 

“Merlin?” 

“Just…please don’t do that.” 

“Oh. Okay. Can I still rub your back? I think this salve is helping.” 

“Yes, just let me…” Merlin sat up and pulled his breeches back up. Arthur had insisted on a full-body examination, much to Merlin’s embarrassment. He didn’t want Arthur eyeing and touching his naked body, but only because it was becoming increasingly difficult to act like it was no big deal. Especially now he knew exactly how good it felt when Arthur touched him. He needed a new rule for himself. Never be naked around Arthur unless Arthur was also naked, and Arthur wanted to do more than just look at each other’s bruises. 

Merlin had planned to go back to Gaius’, but as soon as Arthur began rubbing him, he knew he would be sleeping in the antechamber. Arthur was growing more confident with the slow rub downs, and by the time he finished Merlin’s back, Merlin was feeling quite boneless. Walking was more or less out of the question. Besides that, it seemed like his body was now trained to associate sleepy security with Arthur’s touch. Merlin wasn’t sure if he liked that, for several reasons. But he did like the texture and pressure of each caress, and he liked that Arthur’s right hand had thick calluses. 

He liked to know Arthur cared about him. 

#

Merlin hadn’t really planned on it, but one day he realized he’d essentially moved into Arthur’s antechamber—a move he had resisted for the duration of his employment. He still went to Gaius’ on a regular basis, but he slept on his cot outside Arthur’s door. And there was only one reason for that. It was easier for Arthur to use the salve if Merlin stayed close by. 

Not that Arthur treated Merlin’s bruises every night. Some nights he was too tired. Some nights he was too busy. Some nights too many miles separated them. The bruises didn’t stop forming, but the frequency slowed. Some nights, Merlin didn’t need any salve at all, but Arthur still knelt by his bed, slowly rubbing his muscles until they were pliant and warm. Merlin liked those nights the best. He suspected Arthur did, too.


	2. Penance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's attention shifts to a different kind of massage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for and the **massage-erotic**

“Are you awake?” Arthur asked softly. 

Merlin grunted. He didn’t want to be awake, but he was too tired to sleep. How such a thing could be possible, Merlin didn’t know. He’d never had this problem before. His shoulders ached and his thighs ached and his fingers ached. He always hurt like this after a tourney ended, as though he’d been one of the knights taking a beating from Arthur. Merlin never complained about it, though, because regardless of the number of buckets he schlepped, or the weapons he’d be forced to carry, or how many of the visiting knights he’d be forced to fend off, he knew Arthur hurt more than he did.

Arthur had been very stiff by the time they made it back up to his chambers. Merlin got him in a hot tub and kept the water at a high temperature until he could see the tension easing from Arthur’s shoulders. He tended to each of Arthur’s wounds, many too small to trouble Gaius with, but clearly painful nonetheless. Merlin liked to fuss over Arthur, but Arthur rarely let him. Merlin used various oils and ointments to rub down Arthur’s muscles before helping him into loose-fitting sleeping clothes. He'd been pleased with the his work, and considering that Arthur’s grimace of pain was gone from his face, he thought Arthur had been pleased as well. 

“Arthur, go to bed.” 

“I noticed you were limping.” 

“Limping? I’m sure it’ll be fine in the morning.” 

“Let me see, Merlin.” 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“I told you.” 

“I’m too tired for this,” Merlin muttered, but he pushed his breeches down to his feet and turned onto his stomach. He’d given Arthur an eyeful, but if Arthur was going to insist on bothering him in the middle of the night after a long, long day then he could just deal with it. “This is why you come in here so late, isn’t it?” 

“I just couldn’t sleep.” 

“Why not? You can tell me. I’m so tired I probably won’t remember any of this in the morning.” 

“Because I wanted to do this.” 

Merlin felt a touch on the back of his neck and it was _not_ Arthur’s fingers. It wasn’t his fingers at all. Merlin was very, very accustomed to what those felt like. This felt more like Arthur’s mouth. Merlin couldn’t be sure about that until the third time Arthur kissed him, and there was no denying that Arthur was really, really doing this. Of course, that was the easy part. Figuring out why Arthur was doing this was infinitely more difficult. But did he need to know the why of it when Arthur’s lips felt so very good? 

Merlin couldn’t hear or see Arthur open the vial, but he recognized the sharp, sweet scent. It was the same oil Merlin had used on Arthur earlier. It felt warm to the touch, and Merlin didn’t know what its intended use was, but it worked wonders when it came to getting knots out of Arthur’s shoulders. It certainly didn’t have medicinal purposes like the bruise salve. Arthur leaned back and dribbled it down Merlin’s spine, from his neck to his tailbone.

Merlin had many, many questions, but none of them mattered once Arthur started spreading the oil with both hands. He smoothed his palms over Merlin’s skin in slow, wide circles, beginning at his spine and moving over his ribs, then up to his shoulders and back down to the top of his thighs. Merlin made a shapeless sound in the back of his throat, burying his head in his thin pillow and biting his lip to keep back any more embarrassing moans. 

Arthur’s hands were strong, and when he began applying pressure, it didn’t hurt. Well, it hurt a little, but only because Merlin’s muscles were so tight. He caught his breath, holding it until his lungs burned, trying to process how something could hurt so much and feel so good at the same time. Merlin didn’t want him to stop, even if his instinct was to twist away because the pressure was more of a dull ache than anything. 

“Relax,” Arthur murmured. “Just relax, Merlin.” 

Like it was that easy. Merlin released his breath slowly, counted to ten, and inhaled again. Arthur’s thumbs found a knot just below Merlin’s shoulder, and he couldn’t stifle that moan. It vibrated through him, a clear sign of just how wonderful Arthur’s hands felt. Merlin supposed he would have to hear all about that the next morning—how surprise massages in the middle of the night were another one of Arthur’s many talents. On the other hand, if he kept that up, Merlin would be the one singing Arthur’s praises (giving Arthur a much needed break from that task). 

Arthur could be very focused when performing a task, and this task was no exception. He was thorough in his attention, pouring more oil on Merlin’s back when necessary, and rubbing every sign of tension away. Merlin’s ribs were very ticklish, but Arthur managed to use just enough pressure to keep from tormenting him. By the time Arthur made it as low as Merlin’s hips—and it could have taken him hours to get that far—Merlin wasn’t even moaning anymore. He still made sounds, but they were closer to thick gasps. 

Merlin expected Arthur to stop there, but he didn’t. Arthur had always been good about respecting Merlin’s very clear desire for Arthur to keep his hands above the waist. But now he showed complete disregard for that rule, and Merlin was helpless to do anything about it. What could he possibly say when Arthur was kneading his buttocks, fingers digging into the thick flesh while his thumbs lightly caressed the skin? Even if he could speak, he didn’t think he’d be able to protest that. 

Pleasure pooled in his stomach and began to spread through him. His cock twitched in response, growing thicker by the second. His balls were tight, and he was tense and relaxed all at once. His sleepy brain tried to tell him something, tried to warn him about Arthur noticing his obvious response, but his tired brain didn’t have enough blood to truly function. It had all traveled south, and it was all Merlin could do not to squirm against the cot. 

Merlin managed to keep his responses in check until one callused finger slid between his cheeks, sliding from the top to the bottom. Merlin yelped and half-lifted off the bed, looking over his shoulder to see Arthur studying him with the same serious intensity that he had for any difficult task. Merlin had seen him stare down opponents with the same look. 

“Sorry,” Arthur murmured, though he was still touching Merlin _there_. 

“You surprised me,” Merlin said dumbly. This whole situation was a surprise. Every single second of it. 

Arthur’s only response was to reach for the vial again. This time he poured the oil over Merlin’s thighs. Merlin whimpered as the oil rolled over his skin and down his thighs in slow, thick drips. Arthur pressed his knuckles to Merlin’s inner thigh and prompted him to spread his legs further. Merlin’s breath hitched, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t breathe normally. He may never breath normally again. 

At first, Arthur’s hands were strangely impersonal. Like he could have been anybody, or Merlin could have been anybody. It didn’t matter. Merlin’s cock was hard and aching and everything from Merlin’s eyes to his groin was throbbing in time with his rapidly beating heart. Arthur’s touch didn’t stay impersonal for long, and what began as a massage of his upper thighs turned into an investigation of what was going on between his legs. Arthur caressed and rubbed his responsive muscles and sensitive skin, and Merlin couldn’t take it. He shifted on the bed, but only to pull his knees under him so he could make himself more open for Arthur. 

Arthur’s knuckles brushed against his balls more than once. Every time something of Arthur’s touched that close to his cock, sudden, sharp jolts of pleasure shot from his cock to his throat. After only a few seconds of that, Merlin rocked back slightly, hoping Arthur would decide to stop tormenting him. But he was still clinging to the pretense that this was still only a massage, and most of his attention was still locked to that task. Which was entirely self-defeating, because the more Arthur massaged his thighs, the tighter the muscles became. 

Merlin could feel the pre-come leaking from his slit, coating his head before dripping to the blanket beneath him. He finally bit into the pillow to stop from begging Arthur for more or to stop or to never stop. Merlin wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted, but he was certain Arthur wasn’t giving it to him, and everything else except his frustration was forgotten. He couldn’t even remember he’d been tired once or sore at all. 

Arthur’s hands went back to his ass, and Merlin felt him pulling at his cheeks. Normally, he would very much have a problem with that, but these weren’t normal circumstance. Arthur’s slick finger brushed over his tight opening and Merlin hissed as something new twisted its way up his spine. This wasn’t just pleasure. This was a desire so strong that it choked him and made him light-headed. Merlin’s fingers twisted in the blanket, and he turned his head to rest his cheek on the pillow, gasping for breath and so close to begging that it felt like it already happened. He shifted back slightly, then forward again, not exactly pleased with the way his cock dragged over the bedclothes, but grateful for any friction he could get. 

Arthur pressed slightly on Merlin’s pucker, as if testing it. The tip of his forefinger slipped into Merlin and everything focused in on that. Arthur, _Arthur_ , Arthur was touching him, was pushing inside of him. Arthur was touching him like that, and that was the only place Arthur was touching him. Arthur pressed a bit harder, and a little more of his finger disappeared into Merlin’s body. 

“Oh…please….” Merlin gasped before he realized he intended to speak. “Arthur…please…” 

Arthur pushed his finger in up to his knuckle, and the pressure was so much, the friction too much, the pain and pleasure overwhelming. And it was _Arthur_ , good god it was Arthur touching him, and…

Merlin buried his face again and shouted as the pleasure built and erupted. He spilled himself on the bed with his muscles clenching rapidly around Arthur’s finger. His body shook each time his cock jerked against the bedclothes, and there was an eternity of aftershocks before Merlin collapsed on the bed, his knees going out from under him. 

“Um…” Merlin wasn’t sure if he should thank Arthur or apologize to him. He’d made a complete mess and he knew he should clean himself up, but he couldn’t move. Between the orgasm and the massage, he simply could not move. His brain had disengaged and his muscles had quit for the night, and if there were a sudden attack on the castle, Arthur would have to carry him to safety. 

Arthur yanked Merlin’s pants from his ankles and then covered him with a blanket Merlin kept folded in the corner for the chillier nights. 

“Good night, Merlin.” 

“Nguh,” Merlin muttered, which had sounded a good deal more like _good night sire_ in his head. Arthur chuckled and it sounded so self-satisfied that Merlin made a mental note to be annoyed with him in the morning. In the meantime, he intended to sleep the sleep of the dead.


	3. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the tension and heat rise in Camelot, Merlin looks for a way to ease Arthur's stress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for prompt _Aromatherapy_.

According to a thick tome with brittle, fragile pages, the use of distilled oils and herbal tinctures in candle wax was known to have many mental and physical benefits. Apparently, the scent of these oils could do everything from encourage peace of mind to cure impotence. Merlin didn’t have _that_ particular problem—just the opposite most days—but he did have a very grumpy prince on his hands, and no matter what Merlin did, he couldn’t make his prince smile. Tensions were running high between Camelot and Mercia, and everybody pointedly avoided using the word _war_ because it was the word most on everybody’s minds. Arthur was on pins and needles, growing more anxious by the day, tense in anticipation of reports of raids and an encroaching army. 

Arthur had become single-minded. He neatly divided his time between the practice field and the council chambers. He stopped taking morning and evening meals, and might have forgotten to eat all together if Merlin didn’t subtly press bread and fruit and links of sausage into his hand throughout the day. Arthur always ate it with the distracted air of a man who didn’t realize he was eating anything at all. He retired to his chambers later and later, pushing himself until the day’s candles were burned to stumps, and woke early in the morning to begin drilling. Arthur was utterly exhausted—Merlin knew this because he was forced to keep the same hours and he was dead on his feet. But there were other signs, too. The heavy bags under Arthur’s bloodshot eyes, the wrinkles around his mouth, his drawn skin. He never smiled. He never was pleased with anything. It was almost as though Arthur felt he should be suffering as much as the villages on the border. 

Finally, after a brutally hot afternoon and evening spent with the knights, Arthur nearly stumbled, tripping over his own feet. As far as Merlin could tell, nobody but him noticed, but he knew things had gone too far. Merlin couldn’t alleviate the tensions with Mercia or stave off conflict. But he could make Arthur’s life a little more pleasant and make sure that he took care of himself for one night. 

Gaius had a bundle of candles tucked away that wasn’t meant for everyday use. The wax had been mixed with the essence of chamomile because of chamomile’s healing properties—the scent was supposed to ease tension headaches, sleeplessness and calm nerves. Merlin thought the chances were good that Arthur wouldn’t notice the difference in candles at all, and if he did, he might complain about the unfamiliar and unexpected smell. But Merlin lit one to test it, and the scent was mild and actually quite soothing. 

That night while Arthur spoke with his father, Merlin laid out a proper dinner for Arthur, coaxing the cook to add some extra meat and grapes to the platter. The day had been stifling hot, but a cool breeze was blowing through Camelot with the moon’s arrival, and Merlin kept the windows open to cool the room until it was time to light the candles. He even had time to get Arthur’s bath prepared—another luxury Arthur had been denying himself far too often. In the nightstand by Arthur’s bed, Merlin found the salve the prince had used on him. Merlin sighed at the thought. It felt like it’d been a hundred years since Arthur had the time or the inclination to see to Merlin’s bruises. The plus side of Arthur being tired and distracted was that he rarely had a chance to _inflict_ fresh bruises. Still, Merlin did acutely miss the texture and warmth of Arthur’s fingers dragging down his back, kneading his muscles, slipping between his thighs. 

They never spoke about that. Merlin had wanted to, but Arthur never gave him any openings and Merlin was a little bit afraid that if he mentioned it the light of day—especially on the mornings after Arthur would make him come—whatever spell was over Arthur would be broken and the prince would never touch him again at all. 

“What’s that smell?” Arthur demanded as soon as he opened the door. “It’s…flowery.” 

“It’s chamomile.” 

Arthur’s nose wrinkled. “Why does my room smell like chamomile?” 

“It’s supposed to help with tension headaches.” 

“You know what would help my tension headache? Anything but flowers.” 

Merlin smiled tightly. “Of course, sire. Your bath is quite hot. It’ll stay warm if you’d like to eat first.” 

Arthur waved a dismissive hand at the food, like he’d never seen anything that looked so unappealing in his life, and then started tugging at his jacket. “Just get me undressed. These clothes are all sticky.” 

Merlin moved over to Arthur without comment and helped pull the damp jacket from his shoulders. Arthur sighed as he lost the heavy garment, but he still held himself far too stiffly, and even though he still wore a shirt, Merlin could tell the muscles between his shoulders were tight and bunched together. He might have grimaced a little as Merlin gently encouraged him to raise his arms before he lifted the shirt up and away. 

“I can replace the candles,” Merlin said, head down while he concentrated on Arthur’s laces. “While you’re in the bath.” 

“No. They’re fine.” 

Merlin didn’t press on that point. Arthur was in no mood to suffer quietly, and if he found the scented candles annoying, he would have let his feelings be known. Now that Merlin was used to the chamomile, he found it quite pleasant. With the laces defeated, he pushed Arthur’s pants down his legs and pointedly looked away from his groin. It was getting more and more difficult to treat Arthur’s body with professional distance, especially since Arthur had taken so many—welcome—liberties with his. 

Arthur leaned back, bracing himself against the table as Merlin pulled his boots from his feet. His mouth was less than inch from Arthur’s tense calf and he wanted to press his lips to the skin, feel the rough hair against his lips and inhale the scent of leather and sweat. What would Arthur do if he acted so boldly? It wasn’t anything compared to what Arthur had done to him for so many nights, but it was still far too presumptuous. 

He managed to resist temptation until he could put a safe distance between himself and Arthur. Of course, the safe distance Merlin required spanned nearly the length of the room. If Arthur noticed how Merlin shuffled to get away from him, he didn’t give any sign. He was already turned inward, his mind still busy despite his exhaustion. Merlin resisted the urge to wring his hands as Arthur sank into the tub, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Merlin.” 

Merlin nearly jumped as the sound of his own name scraped across his nerves. They were both exhausted and on edge, and the chamomile was not helping at all. Merlin just wished he knew what Arthur _needed_ from him. 

“Yes?” 

“My back.” 

“Oh, right.” 

Merlin knelt behind the tub and poured a healthy dose of the soapwort solution into the palm of his hand. He worked it into a lather, bit his lip, and began scrubbing the dirt and sweat from Arthur’s skin. He worked his fingers against Arthur’s flesh, not quite massaging him, not quite stepping over the line. But Arthur didn’t shrug him away, and after several beats he even relaxed a little. Just enough to encourage Merlin to increase the pressure. 

“Where did you find the candles?” Arthur asked. 

“Gaius has a number of them.” 

“Is this the only scent available?” 

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, only half-lying. “Would you like me to find out?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you have a specific preference?” He asked casually, hiding the fact that he was thrilled that Arthur liked the scented candles enough to ask after them. 

“I don’t know. Something…green. But now flowery. Something fresh.” 

“Something fresh,” Merlin repeated softly, his mind turning to the challenge (something green?) and away from how smooth Arthur’s skin felt beneath his fingers. 

#

The answer came to Merlin in the middle of the night. He sat straight up with his nose tickling, a dream clinging to his skin and hair. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and the open window didn’t let in a hint of a breeze. Merlin sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, knowing that he would never get back to sleep. Not when he when he felt so disgustingly hot and sticky. 

Arthur had wanted something green. Something fresh. Something _cool_. Something that made him think of a spring rainstorm, of mint and rhubarb, of fresh dew in the cool dawn. That’s what Arthur wanted. As far as Merlin knew, it was impossible to capture the scent of rain in a candle without the use of sorcery, which only left him one real option. Actually, infusing the candle with the scent wouldn’t be the problem. Finding the scent, on the other hand, could present quite the difficulty. It hadn’t rained in months, most of the plants had withered in the parched heat, and it wasn’t exactly safe to leave the castle. The roads were growing more dangerous as rumors of war persisted. 

But it might make Arthur smile. What wouldn’t Merlin give for that? 

He dressed quickly, adept to navigating his room in the dark due to all the nights he’d been forced into subterfuge. He pushed a piece of bread, an over-ripe apple, and a dozen candles in his bag, flung it over his shoulder, and snuck out of the antechamber. 

Merlin reached the lake just before dawn. He crouched on the shore, carefully laying the candles in front of him in a crescent shape. The water rippled softly in the low wind and fish burst through the blue-gray water to catch their breakfast. Merlin had been to the lake just a few months before, and the waterline had been at least a foot, maybe more, higher. But the ground was still spongey and some of the sharp, fragrant plants clung stubbornly to the soil. Dew slicked the leaves, each drop reflecting the new morning sun. The air shimmered golden while the water took the sheen of silver.

Merlin whispered a word to slow time, trapping that moment for an hour, a day, a year. It could be like that for an eternity, if Merlin willed it. The only problem was that Arthur wasn’t there to see it. But maybe he could still experience it. Maybe he would feel the magic of it as the pure aroma filled his chambers, suffused his skin, his bedclothes, his bath water. Maybe it wouldn’t just make him smile. Maybe it would revive him. 

Excited and more than a little pleased with himself, Merlin waved his palms over the candles and muttered a short incantation. The sticks glowed golden green for a moment, and then time returned to its normal speed. Merlin quickly collected the sticks and forced himself to turn away from the coolness of the lake.

#

Merlin kept his head down and bit back his eager smile as he prepared Arthur’s room for him. The room was already smelling fresh and sweet, and though the sweat still rolled down Merlin’s spine, he barely noticed it. The sun had long since gone down, which meant wherever Arthur was, he was probably dead on his feet. Merlin wanted to go to him and lead him back to his chambers, whisper soft promises to soothe the deep creases in his brow. He couldn’t do those things, though, so he had to be patient with waiting and preparing the bath and straightening Arthur’s piles into more orderly stacks. 

The door opened with a weary thump. Merlin took one look at Arthur and realized he didn’t _want_ to know. Whatever made Arthur look like that could wait until the morning. He dragged his feet to the table, pawing at his clothes as he walked. Merlin rushed to his side, fingers trembling slightly as he helped Arthur strip. 

“It’s too damn hot,” Arthur muttered. 

“I know, sire. I made the bathwater cold tonight.” 

Arthur nodded, and Merlin knew he wouldn’t ask just how Merlin managed to get the water cooler than tepid. He sank into his tub, just enough energy left in his limbs to allow him to be graceful. As soon as he settled, his head dropped back. Merlin wanted to smooth the hair away from his face and whisper soft reassurances. Even though they would be hollow and probably just serve to annoy Arthur more. Hearing Arthur snap off his name in irritation would be worth it. 

“Merlin, what is that smell?” 

“Just a bunch of different herbs. Do you like it?” 

“Yes.” 

Just one syllable. Not even an expression of gratitude. But Merlin still swelled with pride. 

“Wash my back.” 

Merlin kneeled in place, reached for the soapwort, and went through the proper motions. He bent his head until his mouth hovered just above Arthur’s neck, so close he was certain he could feel the heat radiating from him. He smelled the sun on Arthur’s skin, and the sharper, sour scent of too much hard work. But Merlin could already smell the lake, too. It was too much for Merlin to take. He closed the space and skimmed his mouth over Arthur’s nape. 

Arthur’s breath hitched, and Merlin froze in place, mouth still pressed to Arthur’s vulnerable skin. Arthur sighed, his shoulders pushing back as he arched into the kiss. Merlin smiled a little, but didn’t let himself get overly distracted from his job. He poured the soapwort solution over Arthur’s shoulders and hair and worked the slick fluid over his too-tight muscles. 

“This scent…it reminds me of something.” 

“Oh?” Merlin’s tongue licked along the baby-soft hair fringing his neck. “What?” 

“I’m not sure.” Arthur’s words were slightly slower, slightly deeper. “But it’s nice. Do you have more candles like this?” 

“They’re not hard to procure,” Merlin said mildly. “I can easily make more if you like them” 

“I do. Thank you.” 

Merlin released his breath in a shaky sigh. This was turning into something better than he’d ever hoped for. 

“You’re welcome, my lord.” The final two words were too heavy, infused with too much emotion, sounded too much like an endearment. Merlin felt himself blushing and was just grateful Arthur didn’t turn his head. 

“Finish this quickly,” Arthur said, his voice strangely tight. 

“Yes, sire.” 

“Merlin…I would like you to stay in here tonight.” 

“Oh…yes, sire.” 

The heat deepened, pressed down on them, but Arthur had goosebumps on his neck and across the back of his shoulders. Every time Merlin’s tongue ran over the raised skin, a shiver wracked his frame.


	4. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Arthur to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for _candlelight sex_ square.

For a long time, Merlin was nothing except his clumsy, goofy manservant, who really didn’t merit much of a second glance, let alone a third or a fourth. Arthur barely paid attention to castle gossip, so he didn’t even know if Merlin had interests or a life outside of Arthur’s immediate presence. He’d heard something about “Morgana’s maid chasing after Arthur’s idiot manservant” but when he’d had the chance to observe the two servants together, he never saw anything questionable. They were friends. Merlin was just friends with everybody in Camelot, as far as Arthur could tell (not that he was looking and not that he cared and not that he was relieved). But Arthur had his own interests, and they never included scrawny, incompetent boys. If he was in the mind for another man, he tended to like the big, strapping ones. 

And then Arthur saw the bruises. 

He’d been joining the men in battle, riding with his father’s knights, since he was twelve. He’d seen men decapitated. He’d seen men die of shock from severed limbs. He’d seen men live for long, torturous hours as their open wounds festered. Sometimes they had entrails coming out of the stomachs. Sometimes they lived long enough to see their flesh infested with maggots, or turn black with infection. Arthur had seen truly horrible things, had even been responsible for truly horrible things, but the sight of Merlin’s quiet bruises had been a punch to the chest. 

His first instinct was to find whoever had been responsible and _beat them to death_. At the time, Arthur hadn’t given a second thought to the desire for revenge. It seemed a perfectly natural reaction. But when Merlin confessed the actual identity of the culprit, that need for revenge had turned inward and Arthur had never felt so sick or so sorry in his life. He would never hurt Merlin. Never. But he _had_ hurt the other man. Repeatedly. Thoughtlessly. And the worst part was that he was still did it. 

Something shifted in his chest the first time he treated Merlin’s bruises. After that, he looked forward to the ritual and the few minutes of his day when he truly was serving somebody else. The fact that it had to be a secret just made it sweeter, somehow. It was private, just meant for the two of them, and there had been something rejuvenating about it. Knowing that he could make his amends, that Merlin could forgive him. He liked knowing Merlin’s body. It wasn’t long before he was obsessed with Merlin’s body, especially the parts that he hadn’t yet touched. 

Arthur always intended to bring Merlin to his bed, especially after he made Merlin come. Arthur had hurried back to his chambers and wanked furiously, his fingers slippery with oil and pre-come and a little bit of Merlin’s come. It only took him a few minutes before he spilled himself into a rag, and he’d felt oddly relieved and unsatisfied at the same time. 

But he didn’t just want to drag Merlin to his bed. He had no problems dragging Merlin around anywhere else, bossing him around, piling demands on him as soon as they occurred to Arthur. But this was different. He didn’t want _this_ to leave any bruises, physical or otherwise. He didn’t want to be about his own needs (of which he had many) because there was still something intoxicating and wonderful about seeing to Merlin’s needs first. Arthur didn’t understand it, and since he wasn’t particularly inclined to serious introspection, he never tried to understand it. 

But then there were reports of Bayard’s men, and skirmishes, and border violations. Arthur had to put aside everything in his life and focus on being the prince of Camelot. He had to be above physical concerns. He had to be above hunger and exhaustion. He had to be above petty personal desires, or the fact that he _missed_ Merlin when he was locked in strategic meetings and endless, endless arguments. But now all the strategies had been set, the arguments had been resolved, and Arthur was going to give himself one night where he didn’t have to be above it all. 

Arthur waited as patiently as he could while Merlin washed him then stood, dripping water and shivering a little. He didn’t understand where the goosebumps came from. It smelled cool in the room, but it was as hot as ever. The rising temperature had made the last miserable weeks downright hellish, and he was always soaked through with sweat by the time he returned to his chambers. But now he was fresh and clean, and the room smelled like the sweetest spring morning, and Merlin was wrapping a cool towel around him. 

Arthur stepped out of the tub and extended his arms, closing his eyes as Merlin gave him a good rub down. His fingers were strong and firm, and he didn’t stop at drying Arthur’s skin. He worked the knots out of Arthur’s muscles, massaging the tightness away with careful attention. This wasn’t anything unusual. Not since the tensions with Mercia started. Arthur was grateful for every second. He wasn’t sure if Merlin understood the true extent of Arthur’s gratitude. But then, Arthur rarely made it a point to mention it. He planned to rectify that. 

“There. All dry.” 

“Merlin.” 

Merlin looked up, emotions brimming from his blue eyes, his entire heart on display. Arthur cupped his face between his palms, cradling Merlin as gently as he could. Just before their mouths met, Arthur noticed that his lights reflected the candles, golden flames caught in his blue depths. Merlin caught his breath as Arthur finally touched their lips together, not exhaling until Arthur traced the curve of his bottom lip. 

Arthur yanked the scarf from around Merlin’s throat, letting it fall from his fingers. Merlin obediently put his arms up and allowed Arthur to pull his shirt overhead. Arthur gripped Merlin’s shoulders close to his neck and dragged his palms over the ridges and down his arms. Arthur recognized the warm, smooth texture. He’d mapped every inch of it at least once, learning the differences between unmarred and bruised skin, between perfection and what’s been marked and wounded by Arthur’s own hand. 

They left the clothes and Arthur’s towel on the floor, Arthur’s fingers clasped in Merlin’s as they approached the bed. Merlin broke away long enough to turn down the sheets and arrange and fluff the pillows the way Arthur always liked them. Arthur’s toes were tingling and he felt a strange rush of nerves and adrenaline, like there was an unknown foe waiting for him in those luxurious bedclothes. 

Merlin sat on the mattress first, smiling a little shamelessly as he stretched on the soft sheet. Arthur couldn’t do anything except stare at him, touched by the beauty of Merlin’s gangling limbs and sleek body on Arthur’s bed. 

“Arthur.” Merlin twined his fingers through the prince’s and pulled him down. Arthur braced himself on the mattress, half-covering Merlin’s body as he pulled the sheet over them in a freshly laundered cocoon. With his face only a hair-breadth away from Merlin’s, he finally realized that the green scent from the candles seemed to be radiating from Merlin. Not just that he’d been around the candles for too long, but that his flesh and hair had somehow been _infused_ with it. Or Merlin was where it originated. Arthur was beginning to think most of the good things in his life originated with Merlin. 

“You’re shaking,” Arthur murmured. “Are you cold?” 

“No.” 

Arthur traced a shadow on Merlin’s cheek before the flame danced and all the shadows shifted. “Are you frightened?” 

Merlin shook his head. 

Arthur brushed his mouth over Merlin’s. It wasn’t a proper kiss. It wasn’t anything except a taste and a breath and a tiny moment before Arthur whispered, “I am.” 

“You’re not. What do you have to be afraid of?” 

Arthur lifted his head and considered his response. He didn’t have an answer he could give Merlin at that moment. So he caught Merlin’s chin and held him for a deeper, longer kiss. It was just the sort of kiss Arthur had wanted to give him a thousand times before. It was the kiss he felt building just behind his lips the first time he’d covered Merlin’s bruises with balm, and it had lingered there forever after that, waiting for its chance to finally escape. It was better to lose himself in the rush of the contact than to tell Merlin all the things he had to fear. 

Merlin sighed into the kiss, arms going around Arthur as he molded himself against Arthur’s larger frame. He’d touched Merlin in stunningly intimate ways, marveling at his own courage and Merlin’s eager reaction each time he crossed the line from something innocent to something much, much more. But he’d never felt closer to Merlin than he did right there with no barriers between them, nothing between their skin, not even the dark. They gradually parted, the kiss thinning until Arthur lifted his head and Merlin stared back at him, face bathed in golden, sticky light. 

They helped each other, hands and mouths working in concert as they moved away from familiar territory. Arthur had caressed Merlin before, but he’d never done so without the pretense of helping. Merlin had touched Arthur before, but always with the veneer of professionalism, the distance that said _don’t worry about me, I’m just doing my job._ But now they had the task of learning a new way to touch and caress and nuzzle and kiss. Their fingers bumped together and their eager flesh twitched and shivered with every hint of contact.

When Merlin hooked a leg around his waist and whispered his desires, Arthur became suddenly shy. He’d been with other people and he understood the mechanics, but he’d never been with Merlin, and though everything should have been familiar and understandable, nothing was. It all perplexed him and worried him in turns. He didn’t want to be responsible for hurting Merlin again—even though this time it would be with truly the very best intentions. But Merlin’s whisper echoed through Arthur with the rhythm of his heart, igniting the very core of him. _Take me, Arthur. Please. It’s all right._

There was more preparation, more fumbling. Nothing was smooth. The minutes didn’t gracefully slide together. Everything was ragged and numb, and Arthur thought one day they would probably be better at this. He was a little upset that he wasn’t already perfect. He wanted to take Merlin in hand and do everything, show him everything, because it felt like he should be able to do that. But he fumbled, and the curve of Merlin’s ear or the dip in his throat or the crook of his arm distracted him from his ultimate goal. Arthur was always so single-minded, but it wasn’t possible to be focused on one task when he really wanted to focus on _Merlin_. 

When Arthur finally sank into Merlin’s tight channel, the sweet, green scent around them exploded into images. Arthur couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t even be sure he was seeing anything at all. The flowers and trees must have been hallucinations. The lake couldn’t exist in the middle of his chambers. It wasn’t possible for candlelight to suddenly turn into the pink-golden light of dawn. Emotions washed through him too quickly to be named, too strong and unworldly to be recognized. 

Merlin never looked away from him. If the entire castle had suddenly fallen away and the infused candles had somehow summoned life and spring and sweet, fresh air, then Merlin probably never even noticed. He clung to Arthur, kissing him and whispering random nonsense. He should have known that Merlin would lose what few faculties he had. It would have been funny if Arthur wasn’t just as lost and senseless, stringing together words that might have been promises but was likely just broken thoughts. 

Arthur pumped his hips slowly, focusing on keeping himself under tight control. His flesh was taut, muscles rigid as he battled himself over how much to reveal and how much to keep safely hidden. Merlin groaned and jerked beneath him, trying to coax Arthur into following a rhythm of Merlin’s. Ceding control completely. He couldn’t do that because Merlin had been right before—Arthur sometimes didn’t even know his own strength. When Merlin clenched around him, his walls hot and tight as a glove, his body so welcoming and open and submissive, Arthur barely knew his own name. How could he ever hope to stop himself from damaging his slighter lover? 

Fingers trailing over his hip again and again finally pulled Arthur from his all-consuming thoughts. He looked down and of course Merlin was looking right back at him. He cupped Arthur’s cheek with his other hand, thumb brushing over his lips. 

“Close your eyes, Arthur.” 

“Want to see you.” 

“Close them,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur sighed and let his lids close. Merlin delicately kissed the corner of his mouth, and a different sort of heat spread through Arthur’s flesh. “Let go.” 

“What?” 

“Let it go, Arthur. You feel like you’re in the middle of a fight.” 

Arthur’s eyes flew open. “What? No. I just…” 

“Whatever you’re thinking about…whatever is going on…it doesn’t matter right now. It’s just the two of us. Let me show you.” 

“How?” 

“Get on your back.” 

Arthur kept his arm around Merlin and obediently rolled onto his back. Merlin shifted against him, driving Arthur even deeper into his channel. They both gasped and remained still, needing a moment to adjust to this new depth, this new angle. Merlin’s chest slid against Arthur’s as he rocked forward, his mouth claiming Arthur’s in a hard kiss. He began moving his hips, and though the tempo wasn’t much faster than Arthur’s had been, it was a bit harder, more intentional. 

The barriers Arthur had hoped to keep around himself fell one by one. There was nothing to do for it. Merlin knocked them all down each time he rocked back onto Arthur’s cock. Before long, he sat up, changing the angle and the depth once again. Merlin was whimpering and moaning in earnest, his hair mussed, his eyes closed, lips parted, and the look of pure bliss on his face. Arthur watched from beneath heavy lids, stunned by the vision before him, too wrapped up in the sight of Merlin breaking to worry about his own iron will. 

Merlin swayed above him, his body like a reed, his skin flushed a spectrum of red. The strange vision of the lake and plants faded as Arthur focused entirely on the way Merlin moved, noting which muscles tensed and relaxed, how he wore the shadows from the flames on his shoulders like a cloak. 

Merlin did keep it slow at first, matching the pace Arthur had set at first. But then something seemed to snap inside of him, and he unleashed himself on Arthur like a weapon. Arthur responded in kind, rising to meet each hard thrust, grunting Merlin’s name, begging him not to stop. The earlier fumbling was forgotten, his eagerness sharpened to a deadly edge, knowing what to do because Merlin showed him.   
The candles were burned low when they finally reached their peaks, cresting at the same time before drifting back down. Merlin collapsed on top of Arthur, his thin body still trembling. Now it was more difficult to make out Merlin’s features, but he felt the younger man’s smile, felt each soft sigh. 

“I have to go in the morning,” Arthur said, fingers idly wandering up and down Merlin’s spine. 

“How long?” 

“I don’t know. Until the battle is won.” 

“I’m going with you.” 

Arthur shook his head, his hand still moving. “No.” 

“You need me…” 

“Merlin, no.” 

“I can’t stay here while you go off to fight some war and potentially get yourself killed.” 

“I’m not going to get myself killed, but _you_ might. This discussion is over. I’ve already made up my mind.” 

“You can’t make me stay.” 

“Yes, I can. I’m the prince. You’re supposed to do everything I say. And if I say, stay in Camelot and don’t get your idiot self killed, then that’s what you’re going to do.” 

Merlin lifted his head, face stony with rage and hurt. “And what if you get your prat self killed? What am I supposed to do then?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“I know that I’m going to come back to you and that no force in this world could stop me.” 

Merlin’s face softened a little at that, but Arthur could tell he still wasn’t happy. That was fine. Nobody was happy in Camelot at the moment. But Arthur was feeling strangely peaceful and relaxed. He realized it was because he’d been telling the truth. He was confident, but there was more to it than that. There was a certainty, a knowledge that came from some place deep inside of him. He _would_ be returning to Merlin.


	5. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur returns. Uther orders a feast. A feast is like a holiday, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for _first holiday as a couple_ square.

Word of the messenger’s arrival made its way slowly to the physician’s chambers, and as a result, Merlin was almost one of the last people to know. He’d tried to prepare himself for the sound of alarm bells. The deep, mournful ringing that would signal the battle with Mercia had taken a bad turn. But Merlin had spent so much energy worrying about what he would do in the event of bad news that he was almost completely unable to process the sound of good news. 

“Did you hear me?” Gaius asked. 

“I heard you,” Merlin said, blinking, still turning the words over in his head. “Arthur is coming home.” 

“He’s coming home,” Gaius agreed, solemn. 

They regarded each other for a long moment before breaking out in matching smiles. Camelot without Arthur was a quiet, serious place. Uther’s temper had been even shorter than usual, and Morgana drifted through the corridors looking drawn, her eyes red and her lips thin. Merlin had dedicated himself to helping Gaius, working harder than he’d ever worked for Arthur. He needed to be exhausted when he finally dragged himself to bed if he wanted to get any sleep at all. Unfortunately, that rarely worked. Before too long, he looked more like Morgana than he’d ever care to admit, equally wan and exhausted. 

“He’s coming home!” 

“Where are you going?” Gaius asked as Merlin rushed to the door. 

“I’ve got to get his room ready.” 

“He’s not going to be home tonight, Merlin.” 

Merlin hesitated at the door, looking over his shoulder. “I know. But…I’ve got to get his room ready.” 

Gaius waved his hand. “Go.” 

Merlin wasn’t the only person eager to welcome Arthur back. Uther’s dour mood immediately lifted, and even Morgana found the ability to smile again. The king ordered a feast prepared for Arthur and his knights, and the castle immediately became a hive of activity. Every servant, regardless of age or station, was ordered to assist in the scrubbing, the sweeping, the hunting, the plucking, the baking. The special tapestries were brought out. Colorful flags flew from the top of every tower. Word went out far and wide that King Uther was celebrating Prince Arthur’s victory and anybody who heard the message was invited to attend. 

Within three days, Camelot was utterly transformed. The narrow streets were packed with people, and nearly everybody in town was making a few extra shillings by opening their homes to travelers. The air was redolent with roasting beasts, precious herbs, and the sweet smells of baking pies. Gaius and Merlin were the only people not swept up in the unexpected cheer. Gaius was running himself ragged seeing to the plethora of drunks, accidents, illnesses, and miscellaneous headaches brought on by too much cheer and too much noise. 

Merlin watched the festivities from Arthur’s window, attention locked on the north gate as he waited for the prince’s return. Arthur had been away for six weeks. Merlin had spent every night in Arthur’s room, focusing all of his attention on the absent man and sending his magic out to roam over the realm. It always found Arthur, and though Merlin could never actually _see_ him, he was always comforted by the way his magic surrounded the prince, touching him and marking his breath. He often wondered if Arthur could feel him in those moments, or if he ever fell asleep dreaming of his manservant. 

Keeping tabs on Arthur from a distance was never going to be the extent of Merlin’s plan. He intended to flee Camelot at the first hint that Arthur might need him. He pestered Gaius for any news that Uther might have heard. He lingered in the audience chamber when Uther presided over his court, hoping somebody would have some morsel of news. Uther had looked at him once or twice, his gaze flicking over Merlin like he might have actually seen him. His face had softened. Or at least, it seemed to soften. It might have just been a trick of the light. Merlin had acknowledged him with a small nod. 

Early on the fourth morning of the feast, a different sort of alarm went up over Camelot. The bells chimed sweetly and the guards shouted at each other to raise the gate. Merlin hadn’t been asleep. He hadn’t even tried to rest once he heard Arthur was finally returning. He rushed to the window in time to see the glint of sunshine off of a blond head and shining armor. The party behind him looked exhausted and bedraggled, but almost complete. 

Merlin raced from Arthur’s room and hurried down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. If he could, he would fly. He would let the magic lift him off the ground and carry him to Arthur’s side. He reminded himself again and again that he couldn’t throw his arms around Arthur like he was a princess waiting for the return of her prince, but he itched to do just that. He heard Arthur’s name with each rapid beat of his heart, echoing in his ears as his frantic feet brought him closer and closer to victorious prince. 

It never occurred to Merlin that Arthur wouldn’t want him to rush out and meet the party. He did manage to stop himself from shouting Arthur’s name across the courtyard, but only just. And only because he needed to spare his breath. His lungs were already burning and he felt the blood throbbing at his temples. His skin felt too tight and his vision had narrowed until he literally couldn’t see anybody except Arthur. 

Arthur dismounted from his horse and Merlin wanted to launch himself into the other man’s unsuspecting arms. But Morgana beat him to it. She wrapped her arms around Arthur, unmindful of the blood and grit still clinging to his armor, or the sour smell of traveling too long without a proper bath. But then, Morgana wouldn’t have cared about any of that. Merlin stopped short, gasping for breath and staring at Arthur who looked perfect and whole and the same as always. His smile was wide and genuine, and it did strange things to Merlin’s heart. He already knew he was in love with the prince, he didn’t need to get weak and stupid over little things like smiles. 

Morgana finally stepped away from him. Just in time for Uther to clap a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and invade her personal space. Merlin bit back his groan of frustration. Now Uther would keep Arthur at his side for the rest of the morning, demanding a full report of every day of the battle, as well as a full inventory of the spoils, a report of the terms of surrender, and an account of how much Camelot had lost and gained from the campaign. If Uther dragged Arthur off to his chambers, it would literally be hours before Merlin saw him. Merlin’s need to touch Arthur never trumped the king’s need to see to kingdom business, but that didn’t change the fact that Merlin was frustrated and eager and desperate. 

He almost touched Arthur. He pushed through the crowd, using his elbows and his absolute conviction that he belonged at Arthur’s side. But his fingers barely scraped across his chainmail before Uther was pulling him away and talking about taxes and feasts. Arthur might have felt the pressure of Merlin’s touch, but he didn’t even turn his head. Merlin dropped his hand, disappointment coursing through him. After six weeks, another hour meant nothing. But Merlin was a little afraid that their last night together had been a fluke. Or a dream. Or an enchantment. 

Merlin stayed in the courtyard until Arthur disappeared from sight, then turned and made his way back up to the prince’s chambers. He dragged his feet, walking without any urgency or sense of purpose. Thick smoke was filling the air again, carrying with it the smell of roasting venison and boar. Merlin probably wouldn’t even see Arthur until the feast that night, and then he would be expected to work. Which always meant running himself ragged fetching wine and food and being pawed at by nobleman and servants alike. They always ignored him until they were drunk, and then suddenly he was Mr. Popularity. He could live with that usually, but he didn’t need the extra aggravation tonight. He just wanted to strip Arthur down and examine every inch of his body until he was satisfied that Arthur was healthy and there and his. 

“I told myself that today of all days, my worthless manservant might get something right. I see I was mistaken.” 

Merlin looked up, automatically prepared to defend himself. Until his brain registered that he was looking at Arthur and Arthur was looking back at him. They stared at each, Merlin’s face pulled into a goofy grin, Arthur’s set in a serious frown. 

“Well?” Arthur said. 

“Well.” 

Arthur sighed. “My armor.” 

“Oh, right, of course.” He shut the door and hurried to Arthur’s side, his fingers trembling before he even reached the prince’s side. Arthur caught his wrists as he reached for the valences, and several beats passed before either of them thought to move. Then Arthur was pulling and Merlin was Merlin was grabbing for him, and their mouths crashed together all wrong. Merlin had to tilt his head and Arthur’s tongue pushed past the thin barrier of his lips. They sighed at the same time, Arthur’s strong arms going around Merlin to crush his thin frame to his chest. 

Arthur’s hands were large, but they felt even bigger when they were covered in leather and holding the side of Merlin’s head. Arthur’s fang caught his lip again and again, pulling at the thin skin until there was a hint of blood smearing over the kiss. Merlin moaned at the hint of copper on his tongue, and that moan turned into a low sigh as Arthur licked at the tiny drops of blood, and then licked at the other corner of his lips, and then his tongue was invading again. 

“God, Merlin. When you weren’t waiting for me…” 

“I was. I went down to the courtyard, but I guess you didn’t see me.” 

Arthur attacked Merlin’s neck with his teeth, sucking hard on the thin skin. It would turn purple within seconds, and everybody would see the shape of Arthur’s mouth on his throat. In the six weeks since Arthur left, all the bruises had faded, and his skin was flawless. Merlin hated it. The pain never bothered him. He wanted the mark on his neck to be the first of many. He wanted to see Arthur’s fingerprints on his upper arms and inner thighs. He wanted there to be questionable bruises on his ass and red and purple marks on his hips. He wanted Arthur to be struck with memories every time he looked at Merlin. 

Merlin gave up on removing the armor. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, and there were terrible dents all over the hauberk. Merlin saw them from the corner of his eye, cataloging each one distantly while Arthur gnawed on his neck. It was so easy to imagine angry blades landing on Arthur again and again, faceless men attacking the golden prince with everything they had, all desperate to be the one who brought the legendary warrior down. Merlin ran his hands over the steel, swallowing a small groan at each indentation, each scratch. 

Arthur backed him up to the table and Merlin lifted himself onto the edge without breaking the contact. Arthur curled his fingers around his waistband and yanked down, ripping his pants off without bothering with the laces. Merlin kicked his boots off and worked the material down his legs until his bottom half was completely bare. His legs immediately went around Arthur’s hips, and the bottom edge of the chainmail scratched against his calves and thighs. The tip of his cock dragged over the cool links, rough against his sensitive skin. Merlin hissed sharply, but found the pain soothed away by smooth leather as Arthur fisted his cock. 

Merlin licked two of his fingers and reached under his thigh, searching for his pucker. He wouldn’t be slick enough or stretched enough to take Arthur without any pain, but this would be better than nothing. Arthur bent over him, claiming his mouth as he tugged almost painfully on Merlin’s cock. Pre-come flowed freely from his cock, smearing over Arthur’s glove and coating his skin. The pressure of Arthur’s swollen lips against his own distracted Merlin from the first twinge of pain, and he worked his fingers in as deep as he could, fucking himself in time with Arthur’s hand. 

“I’ve thought of nothing else but fucking you,” Arthur murmured, tongue sliding over Merlin’s lips between every word. 

“Do it, Arthur. Please.” 

Arthur released Merlin long enough to open his pants. Merlin laid back on the table, watching Arthur and licking his lips nervously. Arthur stroked his length once, the dark leather contrasting sharply with his velvety white skin. Merlin’s stomach twisted on itself, and desire choked him. He wasn’t going to last long once Arthur finally pushed inside of him. His nerves were jagged and raw, and the pleasure was already so tight, so exquisite, that it was nearly painful. 

Arthur hooked his arms under Merlin’s legs and yanked him closer to the edge of the table. He guided his cock to Merlin’s hole, grunting as the tight muscle closed around his crown. Merlin shut his eyes as he adjusted to Arthur’s width, struggling to breathe as Arthur claimed inch after inch of his body. His muscles stretched around the intrusion as much as they could, but the burn was still overwhelming and the pain made the back of his eyes tingle. Despite the pain, Merlin didn’t try to push Arthur away. He responded by tightening his grip on the prince, pulling him closer, knowing it would be better once he was fully seated. 

When he opened his eyes, Arthur’s face was only a few inches from his. 

“Oh,” Merlin murmured, reaching up to touch Arthur’s face. There was a scrape on his temple, and his top lip was bruised. There was a cut on his cheek. Merlin touched every small injury with gentle fingers, willing some of his magic into the skin, wanting so much to wipe away any reminders of the battle. Arthur thrust his hips hard enough to drive him inside Merlin and the sudden flare of pain startled a cry from him. 

“Merlin…I’m sorry.” 

Merlin shook his head frantically. There was nothing to apologize for and the pain was already fading into the background, sinking into his flesh to grow into something else. Arthur was there, pressing him down and filling him, and that was all that mattered. 

“Fuck me,” Merlin whispered harshly. “I need you.” 

Apparently, that was all Arthur needed to hear. He moved in short, hard thrusts, pushing Merlin a little further up the table with each one. They kissed at each other, groped and clawed and moaned with each sharp jerk of Arthur’s hips. The rough chainmail scraping across Merlin’s stomach didn’t bother him, and neither did the cold metal on his chest or pressed against his cheek. He liked the feel of it. He liked knowing that the very metal that had protected Arthur’s life slid against him now. 

Merlin sat up a little and hooked his arm around Arthur’s neck, touching his brow to Arthur’s for a moment before claiming his mouth. Arthur slid an arm under his back and lifted him from the table without disrupting his rhythm. Merlin clung to him, barely aware that he was even off the table. The room moved around them as Arthur moved, and then his back slammed into the stone wall and Arthur’s cock entered him with new force. Merlin couldn’t catch his breath. Arthur was always there, stealing his air, knocking it out of his body, claiming his mouth before he could inhale again. When he did get a bit of air, he wasted it on begging Arthur not to stop, _never_ to stop. 

Arthur was in complete control of the rhythm, and there was nothing to soften the bruising force of his hips. Everything was hard and raw, and every jolt, every brief second when pain overtook pleasure, only made Merlin ache for more. The chainmail scraped across the tip of his cock, catching on his slit and sending a shock up his spine with enough force to make everything blur. He must have clenched around Arthur because he felt the other man shake, his whole body shuddering. Merlin tilted his head back and gasped soundlessly, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. 

Arthur pulled Merlin closer and changed the angle somehow. Merlin wasn’t exactly sure what happened, only that Arthur thrust into him and hit _something_ and there were stars. Big, bright stars shattering in front of his eyes. He didn’t have time to even grunt a warning before the pleasure rushed through him and out of him, hot trails of come splashing across Arthur’s chest, dripping down his chainmail. Arthur shouted something, the sound exploding right next to Merlin’s ear before he slammed into Merlin for the final time. Merlin buried his face against Arthur’s neck, riding out the orgasm as his cock jerked against Merlin’s tender walls again and again. 

He didn’t lift his head again until Arthur stumbled over the bed. He unlocked his limbs with some difficulty and dropped to the bed, feeling like he’d just returned from his own violent war. Arthur stared down at him, breathing harshly, cheeks flushed a deep red. 

“You can clean this later.” 

“I’ll do it now,” Merlin volunteered, pretty sure he couldn’t move anyway. 

“Later. I’m not done with you yet.” 

“Don’t you have to go back down to the feast? The whole celebration is being held in your honor.” 

“Then they can wait for me.” 

“They’ve been waiting a long time,” Merlin muttered. 

Arthur managed to remove the hauberk and then tugged his chainmail over his head. He disposed of the rest of his clothes with startling efficiency, but then again, Arthur was rather found of pointing out he could dress himself if he ever really wanted to. 

“So have I. And since I’m the hero of the hour, they can damned well be patient. Unless you’re eager to wear the special uniform and go downstairs to serve wine.” 

Merlin shook his head quickly. “No, sire.” 

“That’s what I thought.” He stretched out on the bed and pulled Merlin to him. Merlin melted into the kiss, already forgetting why his lips were so swollen. He knew Arthur would take his time and pull back from the bruising touches. Merlin’s flesh was already responding to the whisper of skin against his own. “You know I’m not going to let you leave my side tonight.” 

“I know.” 

“You know I love you.” Arthur’s words were low and urgent, like maybe he thought Merlin didn’t know. Merlin wrapped himself around Arthur, fitting himself snugly to Arthur’s body, and kissed the words out of his mouth. 

“I knew before you did.” 

Arthur smiled and that tasted better than anything Merlin had ever felt against his mouth. Merlin smiled back, whispering his own declarations as they sank into each other again.


End file.
